Divergence I :: The Sea Devils
by Kala Sathinee
Summary: Set during the events of 'The Sea Devils'; the Master takes an opportunity to be honest, reconciling himself and the Doctor and catapulting them both onto a new path. The first in a series of Alternate Universe stories.
1. Part I

**Divergence I**

_The Sea Devils_

_PART I_

The Doctor pulled the survival suit on, grinning like a madman as a distant explosion rocked the passageway. He stuffed his coat in, not really caring if it was comfortable or not, and found the Master scowling at him.

"And I suppose you're enjoying this."

"What? A failed negotiation? More violence?"

The Master's eye roll would have been overly dramatic on anyone else. "I meant this." He gestured around at the garish orange suits and the trembling masonry. "But when you put it like that."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Seeing the error of your ways at last?"

The other man's face scrunched into an expression that spoke of centuries' worth of frustration. He tugged on his survival suit, slamming things at every opportunity. "Has it ever occurred to you, Doctor, that I do not—"

His final words were drowned out by the warbling scream of Silurian weapons and the crackle and sizzle of plasma bolts and infrared slugs hitting the stone and metal around them. On pure instinct, the Doctor ducked, a slug sailing over his head. Neither of them were armed and Venusian aikido wasn't exactly best performed in an inflatable plastic onesie.

Escape was their only option.

"You might want to hold your breath," he called over the din and aimed his sonic screwdriver at the far door. Millennia-old mechanisms creaked to life; pressurized water spraying into the passageway as the door slid open. The Doctor's attention was on the slowly-widening gap and the gallons of cold ocean water rushing in. He didn't see the Sea Devil take aim. The Master did.

"Theta, look out!" The Master dove, throwing the Doctor aside just as the creature pulled the trigger. The little compacted slug of radiation crossed the chamber in a flash of purplish light. It missed the Doctor by a hand's-width and, instead, seared through the orange material of the Master's suit and through his leg.

With an animal howl the Master fell, water roaring over him. The Doctor, too, lost his footing; the water taking his legs out from under him even as it blasted the Sea Devil back against the wall hard enough to knock it out. Snagging a handhold, the Doctor plunged his other hand into the icy water, grabbing a hold of an orange-clad arm. Hauling him to the surface against the powerful inrush of water was a challenge. Had he been human he wouldn't have been capable of it.

The Master came up spluttering and coughing, his face awash with pain. Gloved hands snared desperate fistfuls of the Doctor's sleeve. His voice was inaudible over the growl of the water but his fear was palpable nonetheless.

"Hang in there, old chap," the Doctor shouted, hoping the Master could hear him over the din. "Not much longer now. Once the pressure equalizes it should just be a matter of swimming to the door."

He didn't hear much of the Master's reply, but "you're an idiot" was definitely in there somewhere.

The chamber was two-thirds full of water when the undertow eased. The hiss and growl of the inundation faded, leaving only the distant thumps of depth charges and the groan of the destabilizing structure. The Master, too, had fallen silent; grey-faced and queasy and still clinging to the Doctor for dear life.

The Doctor released his handhold and pushed off toward the faint navy-blue glow of the open hatch; the Master trailing raggedly behind.

"You do know how to inflate your suit, don't you?" The Doctor glanced back.

"It couldn't possibly involve the 'pull tab to inflate', could it?"

The Doctor sighed, deciding that the Master couldn't possibly be _too _badly injured if his sarcasm was intact. Though he recalled him being a far better swimmer and he didn't seem to be using his one leg. Thankfully they didn't have much swimming left to do.

"All right. We'll have to dive down and out of the door and get ourselves well clear of the structure before we inflate our suits."

"And hope we don't run into any depth charges?"

The Doctor grimaced. "Yes, well. Nothing we can do about that." He met the Master's eyes. "Stay close."

As one they inhaled and dropped beneath the surface.

The world was reduced to murky cold and the sound of their own heartsbeats in their ears. The suits compressed uncomfortably and a certain amount of adrenaline that neither would have admitted to began coursing through their veins. Salt stung the Doctor's eyes but he kept them resolutely open; guiding them both through the airlock hatch and out into open sea.

After a minute or so of kicking and paddling through water so heavy it felt like lead, the Doctor felt his respiratory bypass kick in. Which meant he had... well, he didn't really know. He'd never timed himself, but it couldn't be long.

A quick glance up confirmed that they were clear of the rock formations. He nudged the Master and gestured upward. Looking relieved, the other Time Lord fumbled for the pull tab.

Synchronised tugs had them both rising; slowly at first, but gaining speed. The pressure became less and less as the seas around them lightened from inky navy to deep indigo to cerulean. The flash of a depth charge came from somewhere below them, but they were speeding toward the surface.

They reached air in a flurry of bubbles and frothy water and, fortunately, far from any of the circling naval vessels. For a brief moment the Doctor lost track of the Master, but, as the water calmed, the orange-clad shape of him bobbed into view. His sour expression spoke volumes.

There was a hovercraft circling close by and the Doctor waved them over. The water frothed beneath the skirts of the vehicle as it came up beside them. The uniformed officers onboard reached over the side, hauling the Master up and in like some lifeless heap of flotsam. The Doctor grimaced.

"Easy there, chaps," he shouted as another depth charge sent a geyser of water skyward. "He's injured."

One of the men nodded. "We'll see he gets to the medics straight away." They reached down to pull him in. "What about you, sir?"

"Oh, I'm all right." He slid easily up and over the side of the hovercraft. Next to him, two young seamen were extricating the Master from his bulky survival suit. The Doctor's hand slid in something slick and warm and he realized with something like mounting dread that it was blood.

He looked over at the Master's face. The other Time Lord met his gaze, but his eyes were fuzzy and unfocused. There was little colour in his flesh. The Doctor wasn't particularly keen on looking at the wound, but he had to know. He glanced down and gulped.

The Master's calf was seared away down to the bone; the wound spilling blood at an alarming rate. The skin was red, blistered and weeping from knee to ankle. The cold ocean water had done it some good, but not enough. Charred flesh gave way to raw, bleeding muscle. He tried to recall how quickly someone bled out from a tibial artery.

Two muffled thumps presaged a surging in the ocean and an impressive geyser off to their right which showered the deck of the nearby Royal Navy destroyer. So much for the Sea Devils.

"There you go, old chap. It worked."

There was no response and the Doctor turned, hearts jolting. The Master was still and limp; medics darting around him. One of them, a young nurse whose uniform read 'McShane', looked up.

"He's unconscious, sir. Sorry."

The Doctor bit his lip, turning his gaze to the cockpit. Two crewmen were manning the controls; a third on the radio with what he imagined was HQ.

"We're on our way, sir, with wounded. We'll need an ambulance standing by on shore."

* * *

1 0 – 0 – 1 1 – 0 – 0 – 0 2

The hovercraft roared straight up onto the beach, scattering shale as it came to a stop. The paramedics started running down to meet it and Jo followed without a second thought. Captain Hart wasn't far behind. She could see medics moving back and forth and felt dread coil in her stomach. The crewman on the radio hadn't said which of the Time Lords had been hurt and Jo was terrified that it was the Doctor.

"Please be okay," she whispered to herself.

White curls appeared from behind the cockpit and Jo thanked her lucky stars. She was smiling from ear to ear by the time the Doctor stepped down onto the shingle of the beach.

"Doctor!" She stopped just short of hugging him. "They said someone was hurt. I thought..."

The Doctor was making a show of his usual triumphant swagger, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. "It's the Master. One of the Sea Devils shot him."

"What happened down there, Doctor?" Hart asked.

The Doctor frowned. "I managed to destroy their base for you."

Hart's eyebrows rose. "Well, thank goodness for that. Well done."

"I did what I had to to prevent a war," the Doctor snapped.

Movement caught Jo's eye and she looked up as the paramedics stepped clear of the grounded hovercraft, their stretcher now bearing the Master. The Doctor whirled at the sound of their hurried footsteps.

"Is he all right?" He called, jogging after them as they passed. Jo followed, half expecting it all to be some ploy of the Master's. It wouldn't be the first time.

"He's in a bad way, sir. I cannae say for certain. I'll know more once we're in the ambulance." The paramedic was unfazed, but Jo felt her stomach twist. Seeing the wound, she felt bad for even considering that he had been up to something. There wasn't an ounce of colour in his face and he didn't stir as he was loaded into the ambulance. He looked... well... dead.

"I should go with them," the Doctor said, and it took Jo a moment to realize he was speaking to her. "They won't be familiar with Gallifreyan physiology. They'll need—"

"It's all right, Doctor. I understand." She squeezed his hand and nodded toward the open back of the vehicle. "Go on."

The Doctor smiled and Jo suspected that he was far more worried about the other man than he would have admitted. She didn't say anything, though. The Doctor wasn't really one for talking about feelings. She'd save him the trouble of having to deny everything.

* * *

1 0 – 0 – 1 1 – 0 – 0 – 0 2

The ambulance's sirens began their shrill wailing as it pulled away. The Doctor sat, perched toward the rear of the cramped compartment, doing his level best to stay out of the way of the paramedic. That, and slow his racing hearts.

They'd agreed to take him along because he was the only other Time Lord around. He tried to tell himself that it was merely a practical thing; that he needed to be there to tell the doctors what was normal and what wasn't. But he couldn't deny that it was worry that writhed in his stomach and knotted his throat.

"The sooner the better, Morgan," the paramedic—Sibley—called forward to the driver. "I can't get that bleeding under control. BP's sixty over forty and dropping. Heart rate's one-ten; body temp—good god! Fourteen degrees!"

"That's normal," the Doctor cut in before the driver could respond. "Well... nearly."

Sibley blinked, his eyebrows climbing. "How nearly?"

"A degree low."

He swallowed. "All right. Not bad." He was hiding it well, but Sibley was starting to look like a man out of his depth. Regardless, with eagle-eyed precision he attached an IV and went back in with another clamp to seal the still-oozing artery. "You wouldn't happen to know his blood type?"

"Time Lords don't have blood types."

Without breaking his concentration, Sibley chuckled. "Oh, if only."

The Doctor tried to smile but he couldn't. Not while he watched the man tighten the tourniquet he'd applied on the beach. Not while he watched blood still, stubbornly, leak from the wound. The Master looked like a ghost and it took every ounce of willpower the Doctor possessed to not reach out and stroke his still-wet hair or grip his hand. They may have been adversaries, but never once, not even in his darkest moments, had the Doctor wanted this.

"Can this vehicle not go any faster?" he demanded.

"Oh, aye," McGuthrie—the paramedic he'd first spoken to—replied. "But the devil's in the traffic. Half the buggers can't figure out how to get out the way; the other half don't care to." The ambulance peeled around a tight corner. "Not long now. Hospital's just up the way. UNIT says they'll have someone standing by."

* * *

1 0 – 0 – 1 1 – 0 – 0 – 0 2

The 'someone' standing by turned out to be Dr. Beckett; UNIT's chief medical officer and a particularly surly Scot. The moment Sibley and McGuthrie had wheeled the stretcher into the ER, Beckett swooped in like a predatory bird.

"Let's keep this one away from the civvies, shall we? What have we got?"

"Severe leg trauma, second and third degree burns, bleeding from the anterior tibial artery. BP stabilized at fifty-seven over thirty-five, heart rate ninety and body temperature holding at a balmy fourteen degrees." Sibley recited the information as if it were nothing more than rugby scores. "Non-responsive and in shock, but the Doctor tells me his body might be trying to go into some sort of healing coma."

"Sounds about right." Beckett nodded as a group of doctors joined them, several of whom were wearing UNIT badges. Sibley and McGuthrie surrendered the stretcher and Beckett and his team started toward the OR. "Tell the Brigadier he'll have his prisoner back in no time."

The group, gurney and all, vanished around the corner and the Doctor bit his lip. It felt wrong to be so far away; to be standing in a waiting room while his frie—his fellow Time Lord was wheeled away by people he barely knew. He could almost hear the Brigadier's voice telling him he was being silly. Especially when he should really have been checking on Jo and Captain Hart. He'd left them in rather a hurry and there'd still been so much to do. But surely he had a responsibility to stay; what with the Master being in such dreadful condition.

"Excuse me, madam," he began, approaching the check-in desk. "You wouldn't happen to have a public telephone?"

The young lady behind the desk looked up from some complicated paperwork. "Of course, sir. They're just in the hall over there." She pointed to a set of double doors.

"Thank you." The Doctor made for the doorway, resigning himself to a long night. He knew the Brigadier wouldn't like it, but he also knew he couldn't leave. It wasn't as if he would have slept anyway.

* * *

1 0 – 0 – 1 1 – 0 – 0 – 0 2

The morning light seemed muted, but to be honest, _everything_ was. There was lead in his veins and cotton in his ears and his time senses had abandoned him altogether. The world came back to him in blurry bits and pieces, his memory just as fragmentary.

He could hear a machine chirping double beeps in time with his hearts and in the dim light he could see an intravenous tube snaking from his hand to a hook with bags of fluid and blood. He was strangely numb and from how heavy his eyelids felt, he suspected he was anaesthetized. He attempted to sit up and, with a groan, revised his assessment. The anaesthetics were clearly wearing off. As he moved, fiery pain lanced up his leg and took the breath from his lungs.

He settled back down with a grimace and heard someone else stir. Movement registered in the corner; silhouetted against the grey light filtering through the slats.

"How are you feeling?"

Of course it would be him.

The Master shifted slightly, gritting his teeth. "I've been better." Trying not to sound as groggy as he felt, he continued. "Why are you here, Doctor? Waiting to gloat?"

"I rather think gloating is more your area of expertise," the Doctor grumbled, though he hardly sounded committed to the spar. "And seeing as you saved me from similar injury it would be grossly ungrateful of me to mock you."

His customary lisp was bordering on a rasp through what was apparently lack of sleep. Once upon a time the Master would have called it charming. Admittedly, he couldn't actually think of another word, even now. It would have been comforting to imagine that the Doctor had been losing sleep over _him_, but he didn't dare entertain such hopes. That particular ship had set sail a long time ago and he'd neglected to board.

"Then do indulge me, Doctor. What brings you to my bedside at so early an hour?"

"Do I need a reason?" the Doctor asked, evasively.

"I suppose not." The Master shrugged. "Although I find it odd that you would choose to spend your hours here without a cause." He waved a dismissive gesture with the hand that was not stuck with an IV. "In any case, you may go now. Your armed guards should be more than sufficient to contain a cripple."

The Doctor made a face, though something glinted in his tired eyes that sent a jab of apprehension into the Master's stomach. "Why did you do it?"

"You're going to have to be more specific, my dear fellow."

"You threw yourself in the way of weapons fire to save me. Now _I _find it odd that you would do such a thing without a damned good reason." Something of his usual imperiousness returned to his tone.

"A momentary lapse in judgement, I assure you." The Master swallowed as pain throbbed more insistently in his calf.

"Answer my question and I shall answer yours," the Doctor snapped.

"Then we shall both, regrettably, leave without satisfaction."

It was a familiar game, one they'd played many times. Endless verbal sparring as they danced around a mutual past neither would speak of. Constantly afraid that to do so would be to irreparably provoke the other. But if the sour expression was any indication, the Doctor wasn't in the mood. With a sigh of frustration he rose, snatching his Inverness cape from the back of his chair.

"If you wanted to be left alone you only had to ask."

The Master swallowed as the Doctor crossed the room, not sparing him a single glance. He knew the other man well enough to recognize the hurt that hid beneath the bluster. He would have ignored it under normal circumstances. He would have... but why _had_ the Doctor spent what seemed like the entire night at his bedside? Some part of him recoiled in fear and begged him not to get his hopes up; insisted that he'd only be disappointed. But there was another part of him that was louder now. A younger, less damaged, more hopeful part that urged him to speak; promising that it wasn't too late. _Just say something... anything. This is what you've been looking for all this time. Don't throw this away. You've done so much that's wrong but it's not too late! Just..._

An old, familiar knot returned to his throat. He was still angry. He had so much to be angry about: being abandoned with Axos, the Praxilion debacle, Darkheart. And that original betrayal; so many years ago now, yet still as painful to think on as it had been then. And yet, he knew that the day he'd left Gallifrey behind, he'd been perfectly willing to forgive the Doctor. He hadn't felt this anger then. But so much had happened since... He'd died so many times, and become angrier with each incarnation. He'd gone from being a man who saved worlds to a man who destroyed them. He'd done so much...

But that hopeful voice in the back of his mind cut off his train of thought. _Nothing will ever change if you let him walk out of that door._

The Master took a deep breath. "I have been unaccountably... unforgivably... cruel to you, and to your friends." He kept his eyes down, fixed on his hands. Whether unwilling or unable to look at the Doctor, he wasn't certain. It was hard enough to find the words. How did one go about asking forgiveness for crimes of his magnitude? "I don't even know why. I... I never wanted this. I never wanted to hurt you." His voice wavered. "I don't know where it all went so wrong."

The Doctor stood frozen, his hand white-knuckled on the door-latch. A weighty silence had descended on the room; thickening the air and making the slightest hum of equipment into a throbbing buzz. Afraid that the Doctor would leave without further words, the Master continued.

"I left Gallifrey to find you. And yet, after all this time, when I finally did, I... I handed you over to Autons and Daemons. I tried to kill you. I very nearly had Miss Grant blow herself up, and if you hadn't pried that gun from her hand, Miss Waterfield would be dead, too." He shuddered, remembering how naive and kind she'd been and how callously he'd ordered her to shoot herself. "There are no words that suffice, but, I am _truly _sorry, my dear Doctor."

"Don't," the Doctor nearly whispered.

The Master's chest clenched and he tried swallowing the lump still stubbornly lodged in his throat. He closed his eyes. There it was. The disappointment. He knew how this story ended: The Doctor would storm out and not return, they would both return to square one, yet another bridge thoroughly burned. He tried to keep the pain out of his expression.

He waited to hear the door open and close; waited for the sound of retreating footsteps, but none came. Instead, he heard the Doctor draw a shaky breath.

"Don't apologize, my dear. You, of all people, know I don't deserve that."

The pain of old wounds knifed into the Master's chest. Wounds he'd salved and buried long ago. His every instinct was to close himself away. It had been centuries since he'd allowed himself to be vulnerable and it scared him. Especially skirting such issues as they were.

"Nevertheless," he whispered. "I'm sorry... for everything."

The Doctor's hand released the latch and his head fell. He rubbed his eyes, taking a deep breath as if he were composing himself. The Master almost wished he were close enough to reach out and lay a hand on his arm.

"I'm sorry, too." The Doctor's voice was quiet and hoarse, with a brittle edge of emotion. "I... I don't even know where to begin."

"You don't have to—"

"Yes. Yes, I do." The Doctor turned to face him; pallid in the feeble light. "You very nearly died yesterday. I've been so caught up being your enemy that it had never occurred to me that I... I might lose you." His jaw clenched as if he were forcing himself to continue. "And I realized that I wouldn't want you to die without knowing that of all my many mistakes, there are none I regret more than my betrayal of you."

The Master bit his lip. His hearts were still racing and an ache was spreading. An ache he hadn't felt in a long time. He'd imagined this conversation; run it through his mind a thousand times, but he still wasn't prepared. Nothing could have prepared him.

"I forgave you a long time ago, Theta."

The Doctor twitched, almost as if he'd been struck. He swallowed, hard, his lips tightening as if to stop them quivering. "Why?"

"What do you mean, why? I just did. That's what you do when you love someone." The Master looked down, self-conscious the moment the words were out of his mouth. "I heard what happened to your family... I went to see if you were all right. I was going to tell you then; that I'd forgiven you. Rassilon knows you'd been through enough... But you were already gone."

There were tears on the Doctor's cheeks when the Master looked up. He was looking back at him as if he were seeing him properly for the first time.

"I've been chasing you ever since," the Master added, barely above a whisper.

"You still loved me? After everything?" The Doctor's voice was choked.

The Master chanced a shy little smile. "I couldn't have stopped if I'd wanted to."

There was a long silence; the Doctor sniffing and rubbing the back of his neck. He was trying to conceal the tears, but his valiant efforts were in vain. Each time he swiped the wet trails from his cheeks, more took their place. But he managed to maintain his dignity.

A few cautious steps brought him to the Master's side; nervous hands dancing above the blankets as if uncertain where to land. The effect was almost comical. To see this tall, stern, and imperious version of his old friend reduced to the same shy, awkward boy he'd been in school... He very nearly laughed.

The Doctor must have seen the mirth in his eyes because, with a quiet little chuckle that shed the last of the sadness from his face, he closed the remaining distance between them. Reverent fingers brushed over the Master's dishevelled hair; hands cradling his head as the Doctor leaned down, pressing a brief, shy kiss to his lips. Chaste as it was, the Master nevertheless found his hands clinging desperately to velvet-clad shoulders. He felt as if he were floating. Clearly there was nothing like the mix of waning anaesthetics, adrenaline, and profound relief.

_Damn that heart monitor, _he thought as the machine's shrill sounds betrayed his elevated heartsrate. Another soft laugh came from above him and he had to remind himself that, while the Doctor was half the telepath he was, with their skin touching there was little they could hide from one another.

"If you think that's fast you should feel mine."

The Master brushed his fingers against the Doctor's throat, feeling the flutter of his racing pulse. As much from fear as from excitement, he suspected. The fear that the wrong word at the wrong moment could shatter their peace and put them back at each other's throats.

"You know I mean it, don't you?" he asked, his voice quiet. "I mean it... when I say that I love you. Irrevocably and unconditionally."

The Doctor's mind was a swirl of contradicting emotions, just tangible on the periphery of the Master's own. If anything, the Master's words only increased the tumult. But when he spoke, the Doctor's voice was as calm as before.

"I love you, too." He swallowed, a little of his sadness returning to his eyes. "I always have and I always will. I only wish I'd acted like it."

The Master smiled, stroking his hand through soft, silvery hair. "It's not too late."

The Doctor's answering smile was wide and open and spread into every corner of his face. It was a smile the likes of which the Master had not seen for a very long time. His hands straightened the Master's mussed hair.

"Do you trust me?"

The Master chuckled. "Oh, I don't know if I'd go that far."

The Doctor leaned in to kiss him again and this time the Master met him halfway, though the movement drew a flinch as a fresh stab jolted his leg. When they parted the Doctor looked down, concerned.

"Your anaesthetics must have worn off." He frowned. "Should I fetch the nurse?"

"No, no," the Master waved dismissively. "I'm sure she'll be along." Then something occurred to him that, perhaps, he should have noticed earlier. He probably would have had he not been laying himself bare. But there it was, in plain sight. "I'm curious, though. Where did you get the blood?" He glanced up at the IV bag. "It can't be human, and I very much doubt this planet keeps a stock of Gallifreyan blood..."

The Doctor smiled sheepishly. "They don't. Thankfully they had one better."

The Master swallowed. "It's yours?"

"Well I couldn't exactly send home for some, could I?" A little grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "It's not like I'm going to miss it. And you were... You needed it."

The Master had caught the pause, and he wasn't letting it go. "I was going to die, wasn't I?" He'd wondered. The Doctor hadn't reacted this way when he'd been injured before. He must have been very afraid indeed to chance saying the things he did.

A solemn look passed over the Doctor's face. "Without the blood... Yes. Your hearts actually stopped on the table. Apparently it was a fight to get you back. Beckett was ready to call it."

"What stopped him?"

"Haven't the foggiest." Almost absentmindedly, one of the Doctor's hands drifted up and cupped the Master's face. "I must say, though. Whatever it was... I'm glad."

He would have said that he was too, but that much would have been obvious to just about anyone, even that drooling idiot Trenchard. So instead, with a final lean into the Doctor's palm, he said: "You know, you should probably be calling the Brigadier. I imagine he has you on some kind of check-in schedule."

"Oh, but of course," the Doctor chuckled. "He's perennially afraid that you'll find some way to hypnotize me."

The Master snorted. Clearly the Brigadier didn't fully comprehend the depths of the Doctor's stubbornness. "Whatever will he say when he finds out we've kissed and made up? Literally."

The Doctor grimaced. "Let's cross that bridge when we come to it, shall we?" With a parting squeeze of the Master's hand, he made his way to the door again. "Take it easy on yourself, Master—"

"Oh, you don't have to call me that ridiculous name."

"You chose it."

The Master shrugged. "Yes. But is it not the custom of our people to continue the use of given names between close friends and family?"

A look of profound happiness swept the Doctor's face and he gulped, as if taking on some sacred responsibility. "Yes, I suppose it is." He unfolded his Inverness cape and slipped it on with a shimmer of purple polyester lining. "Take care of yourself and rest, Koschei."

"I'll do my best, Theta."

Smiling from ear to ear, the Doctor stepped from the room, the door swishing shut behind him. Through the glass, muffled, he heard his authoritarian tone demanding: "There you are. Took you long enough! His anaesthetics are wearing off! Is that any way to treat your patient?"

The other muffled voice was a timid-sounding young woman with a hint of a welsh accent. "I'm sorry, sir. There was a shift change, and UNIT hasn't been keeping us up to date. I would have been here ten minutes ago but your UNIT guards had me take some ridiculous test."

Koschei admired the steel that entered her voice. Not so timid after all. His leg may have been hurting more than he let on, but he certainly wasn't going to give her a hard time about it. Especially since it was his own fault that she had to go through said ridiculous test. They had to make sure she was immune to hypnotism.

With the Doctor's disapproving tones still making their muted way into the room, Koschei eased himself back into the mattress. He felt surprisingly ordinary for a man who'd just turned over his own universe. He would have thought that he would feel different... changed. It made him somewhat apprehensive. If he didn't feel different, had he actually changed?

But perhaps that was the beauty of it. So much had changed with nothing more than simple words. There had been no revelations, no visitations, no angels blowing trumpets; just himself and Theta, saying things that they should have said a very long time ago.

It briefly crossed his mind that it all might have been some drug-induced dream. That he might wake up and find that he'd never had that conversation. The possibility was terrifying, but he shoved it away. He was a Time Lord. He knew the difference between dream states and reality.

And anyway; this was far too good to be a dream.


	2. Part II

**Divergence I**

_The Sea Devils_

_PART II_

It took two weeks for the Master's leg to heal. The human physicians were astonished but it was clear enough to the Doctor that Koschei was impatient. He'd never been able to sit still, even when they were boys. Being confined to a hospital bed was driving him positively batty.

Though it had taken some convincing, the Doctor had gotten the Brigadier's permission to remain at the Master's side as often as possible. He'd allowed Lethbridge-Stewart to believe that it was to keep him from escaping; he'd thought it best not to tell the man that it was so he could keep him occupied with games of chess, Risk, Scrabble, and a rather inappropriate card game that hadn't technically been invented yet. But honestly, hearing Koschei laugh until there were tears in his eyes was worth any amount of lying to the Brigadier he had to do.

They managed a lot of talking too, and it resulted in its fair share of tears. The Doctor discovered that it was physically impossible for him to discuss what happened to his wife and children without breaking down. Koschei ended up much the same when discussing his last few regenerations and his descent into destructive anger. He couldn't stop himself apologizing.

Over time, however, their discussions mellowed. The desperate emotions calmed to dull regret and fading sadness. He lost count of how many times Koschei asked his forgiveness and he gave it every time.

The Doctor couldn't help but feel like he'd been granted a precious gift. Each second with him felt impossibly valuable and he was so afraid that at any moment it would fall apart. Funnily enough, it wasn't the Master that he didn't trust. It was himself.

"Easy there, old chap. Wait for me," the Doctor said, striding into the room as Koschei swung his legs off the bed.

"I am capable of sitting up on my own," Koschei replied by way of greeting. "As they've discharged me, evidently the medical professionals have deemed me fit to move about. And I'd rather not end up with bed sores if it's all the same to you."

The Doctor pulled a face, trying for disapproving but ending up with something more along the lines of vaguely amused. He looped an arm around the Master's waist and eased him off the bed and onto his feet. His wounded leg wobbled beneath him, barely holding his weight.

"Have you talked to the Brigadier?" he asked, casting a withering glare at the cane propped up on the nightstand before snatching it up.

The Doctor's expression turned queasy. "Ah, well, you see..." He grimaced.

Koschei's eyebrows climbed. "You haven't told him?"

The Doctor smiled; the very definition of sheepish. "I wasn't sure how to bring it up."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!"

"Look, I'll figure it out. You just focus on not falling over."

Koschei rolled his eyes but did as he was told. He eased his weight onto the cane and after a few wobbly steps around the room he seemed to get the hang of it. "Springing it on him at the last minute, hmm?"

"It gives him less time to say no."

"And, conversely, less time to say yes."

The Doctor planted his hands on his hips. "My good man, since when have you known me to fail in getting what I want?"

The Master snorted. "Almost never." He limped up to face the Doctor. "But this _is_ the Brigadier."

"I suppose you have a point." The Doctor absentmindedly adjusted the collar of the Master's Nehru suit. "But I shall have to insist. He'll come around."

"Shall I clock you?" the Master asked with a smile.

The Doctor pinched the other man's nose. "Do you have some kind of wager?"

"I might." There was a cheeky glint in his eye.

* * *

1 0 – 0 – 1 1 – 0 – 0 – 0 2

Predictably, their escort arrived in the form of Captain Yates, Sergeant Benton, and a small herd of enlisted UNIT personnel. Despite the Doctor's protests and sour expression, Yates insisted on cuffing the Master and sitting him between armed soldiers. Both of the Doctor's friends seemed equally baffled by his displeasure and equally unsettled by the Master's cooperation.

The drive back to UNIT headquarters would have been silent were it not for the Doctor's constant grousing. Koschei almost wished that Miss Grant were there to shut him up; even though it felt truly blissful to know that the man was so thoroughly upset at his treatment.

He almost pitied the Brigadier. _Almost._

* * *

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"Absolutely not!"

"Now, Brigadier, don't be unreasonable!"

Lethbridge-Stewart slammed shut the file he'd been reading, which, by a quick scan, the Doctor had deduced was an exhaustive report on the Sea Devil incident. "I don't see how I'm being unreasonable, Doctor. Two weeks ago the man was trying to start a war and now you would have me grant him a UNIT pass?" He raised an eyebrow, somehow managing to appear amused as well as enraged.

"You make it sound more absurd than it is."

"It's preposterous, Doctor!"

The Doctor crossed his arms. "I trust him."

"That's what worries me." The Brigadier massaged the bridge of his nose and sighed. For a moment he gazed longingly at the stack of reports and paperwork on his desk as if willing them to be his only annoyance. "I just don't understand—"

"I wouldn't expect you to and it's a terribly long story." The Doctor made for the door but the Brigadier stopped him dead with the bark of a throat being cleared.

"Lucky for you, I don't have anything scheduled for this morning, and neither do you. Sit down."

The Doctor gulped and reluctantly obeyed; seating himself in the chair opposite the Brigadier with the manner of a child who'd just been thoroughly scolded. He twiddled his thumbs for a moment, deliberately refusing to make eye contact with the other man. It wasn't long, though, before he caved.

"Oh, I suppose you'd like me to start?"

"Some time in the next week would be preferable."

The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck. "Yes, well... uh... you see..."

"Do get on with it, Doctor."

"Fine!" the Doctor snapped. "But I'd thank you to be quiet and not interrupt me until I'm finished."

The Brigadier smirked, as if he'd been hoping for that very reaction.

The Doctor settled back in the chair and cleared his throat. "I suppose you know we went to school together..." The Brigadier nodded and the Doctor continued. "I have known Koschei—the Master—since we were both five years old. My House was looking to solidify its power base and decided that ties to some of the more politically active newblood Houses would keep us in the upper echelon of Gallifreyan society. We began courting House Oakdown... the Master's House. He was the first boy my own age I met aside from my cousins. We were thick as thieves before you knew it." A funny little smile played across his face. "We played together, picked on our cousins together—"

"This is all very charming, Doc—"

"I said no interruptions." He crossed his arms and continued. "Anyhow, we were packed off to the Academy three years later and by the time we were twenty... well, uh..."

It was obvious that the Brigadier wanted him to cut to the chase but he managed enough patience to stay silent. The Doctor rubbed his neck again. "We were, as you say on this planet, dating."

The Brigadier's eyebrows made a break for his hairline, but otherwise his expression didn't change. The Doctor could almost imagine a 'data loading' bar running across his forehead. He tried not to smirk.

"We... saw each other for years and we promised that once we graduated we would be married. Of course, I very nearly didn't graduate at all. Had to retake all my exams. Koschei, naturally, passed all of his with flying colours; top marks all around. In fact, he had the highest commendations ever awarded to a student in Trans-Temporal Navigation—"

"The two of you were engaged to be married?"

_Ah, it would seem the loading bar has finished._

"Yes, Brigadier."

Lethbridge-Stewart went back to massaging the bridge of his nose, warding off an oncoming headache. "You and the Master...?"

"Yes."

"They allow that on Gallifrey?"

"What? Marriage?" The Doctor looked perplexed for a moment. "Oh, you mean because we're both... Yes, you see our people have no such primitive qualms. We'd grown out of that by—well, to be honest, I don't think we ever prescribed to such silliness to begin with."

"So what happened? If I recall, the reason he came here was to kill you."

"How did it all go so wrong, you mean?" The Doctor's face darkened. "As I told you, my House was trying to improve its standing. That's why they had courted Oakdown. However, by the time Koschei and I were graduating, Oakdown was no longer the most prestigious of opportunities. We'd managed connections with some other powerful newblood families and my mother was now looking to other oldblood Houses; Braethorne, in particular.

"You see, arranged marriages are still quite common on Gallifrey, especially amongst the older, dustier families; Lungbarrow being one of the oldest and dustiest. Six months after I graduated, my mother informed me that I was to marry Lady Theia, who happened to be the daughter of Braethorne's Kithriarch—Head of House, sorry.

"I hesitate to say that she was horrible; I've met worse. There wasn't really anything malicious about her but she was everything I disliked about my kind. Boring, unadventurous, close-minded, hidebound..."

"But?"

"But I couldn't go against my family—well, obviously I could. Every Gallifreyan has the right to refuse an arranged marriage."

"But you didn't?"

The Doctor sighed heavily, looking for all the world like a man in confession. "I thought that if I refused the arrangement I'd be being selfish. I was an idiot, of course. A complete, dithering moron."

"The Master didn't take it well?"

"No. He did not. I... I tried to explain. Obviously I did a poor job of it because it was the last time we spoke for three hundred and forty eight years. He went off to his lab, I went off to my work in the archives and I, stupidly, married Theia and loomed children." He audibly gulped, and when he spoke again his voice had turned gravely. "We had a son and a daughter; Willam and Terra. Both top of their classes; smarter than me by a long shot. And Terra, eventually married a young man she met at school and had a daughter of her own."

"That would be Susan?"

A brief smile returned to the Doctor's increasingly sorrowful face. "Yes. That would be Susan."

"Dare I ask what happened?"

The clench in the Doctor's jaw was most telling. The Brigadier had seen the same on the faces of soldiers who had watched their comrades die and on the faces of wives and parents when told their relatives weren't coming home.

"We were having a picnic. The whole family, out for a meal under the open sky... Theia and I were just starting to get along. I was supposed to be relaxing, but I insisted on running an experiment; some wretched time-field manipulator that I thought could make TARDIS travel smoother. I..." The Doctor's voice cracked. He no longer seemed capable of looking the Brigadier in the eye. "I was a damn fool. I should have known something that delicate couldn't operate properly outside the lab... Something disturbed the inner workings; to this day I have no idea what it was... It exploded—just a pop, really. It was so small."

He stopped, seemingly at war with himself. His breathing was deep and controlled and his lips tight. The occasional twitch of smothered sobs were all that showed beneath his iron-clad control. But it was clear that, however long ago it had been, the pain was raw and fresh.

"It's all right, old chap. Keep going," the Brigadier urged, his voice considerably gentler than it had been earlier. He knew where this was going and he felt guilty for being so pushy before.

The Doctor's voice was even hoarser. "The moment it exploded it sent out a time field—a bubble of accelerated time. I was further from the machine, so I missed the brunt of it, but... Theia was right next to it. She was vaporized in a second. Willam—Gods, Willam. Tidal forces... tore him apart, right in front of my eyes." The Doctor's eyes were screwed shut, tears dripping down his cheekbones. "Terra and her husband... my little girl aged and crumbled to dust before I could get to the device and shut it off.

"When it was over, all that was left was ash. Everything inside that field had turned to ash except for me. I thought I'd lost everyone. As it so happened, little Susan had tottered off chasing Taffleshrews and missed the whole thing. Poor girl came back to find her silly granddad transfigured into a wizened old man and the rest of her family gone. I don't think she even remembers her parents."

There was a long and heavy silence in the office. The Doctor ran his hands down his wet face in an attempt to compose himself. Ordinarily the Brigadier would have pressed him to get back to the point, but this was hardly ordinary.

"I'm sorry, Brigadier. I am taking a rather long time to tell this tale..."

"That's quite all right, Doctor."

The Doctor managed a shaky smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "After that, I couldn't look at Gallifrey anymore. Everywhere I went I was reminded of my children, of Theia. I couldn't take it. So I left. I packed my things, took Susan down to the scrapyards and stole a TARDIS. The rest is history, I suppose."

"And the Master?"

"Unbeknownst to me, he'd long since forgiven me. He heard the news and came to see how I was, only to learn that I'd done a runner in a stolen time machine and that his dear old friend was now a renegade. Of course, he did what any sensible Time Lord would do. He stole his own TARDIS and chased after me.

"Unfortunately for him, he kept landing in the aftermath of my visits or just slightly off course in space or time. He hasn't told me exactly how they all died, but he lost all of his regenerations. But with each death he grew more and more frustrated, and that frustration eventually became anger. He lost the patience to save worlds and stopped trying. And then, on his last life, he finally found me, but by then he was so damned angry that he lashed out."

"And what, exactly, has changed?"

The Doctor beamed, his grief fading to a little shadow behind his eyes. "We talked. Well, actually, the first thing was the Master taking that plasma bolt for me. But over the last two weeks we've... worked out our differences."

The Brigadier took a deep breath. "I hate to rain on your parade, old chap, but the Master has pulled the wool over your eyes before. How can you be sure that's not what he's doing now?"

"I've known him for a long time and I've known him intimately. I know when he's lying." The Doctor took a deep breath and straightened in his seat. "He did what he did because he was angry, but the anger is gone now. I think we've put the past behind us."

"You think?"

"I'm certain."

"Those are two very different things, Doctor."

"I'm certain. If all he wanted was to escape, it would have been much easier to simply wait for another opportunity to slip out of his cell. Instead, he chose to dredge up all the pain of the past and be honest. He chose to lower his defences. He trusted me not to hurt him and... And he forgave me. I didn't deserve it, but he forgave me anyway. So I forgave him... and we, well..."

"Kissed and made up?" the Brigadier finished with a poorly concealed smirk.

The Doctor's sheepish grin returned. "I'll be honest. All those days I insisted on staying at the hospital to keep an eye one him, we were really just playing chess."

"Yes. Benton told me."

The Doctor's expression rapidly morphed into one of scandalized surprise. "Benton?" He scowled. "You were surveilling us?"

The Brigadier sat back with a grin. "Of course I was. What sort of man do you take me for?"

* * *

1 0 – 0 – 1 1 – 0 – 0 – 0 2

The room had been silent before, but Jo could swear it got quieter when the Doctor swept in. Benton and Yates looked equal parts flabbergasted and outraged. As for herself, Jo didn't know what to think. She hadn't been privy to the Doctor's meeting with the Brigadier and neither of them seemed keen on divulging details. All she knew was that for some reason the Master was being released.

Yates had been staring at the Brigadier for a solid ten minutes, apparently trying to figure out whether or not he'd lost his mind. Benton, meanwhile, had glanced several times at Jo; each time looking more and more despondent. With good reason, she thought with a smirk.

It was hard to decipher the look that passed between the Doctor and the Brigadier. It was clearly one of understanding, and yet they both still looked like they were daring each other to speak first. And just when it seemed the room couldn't get any more uncomfortable, the Doctor beckoned to the man behind him.

The Master limped into the room, leaning heavily on his cane. Jo almost felt bad for him once she saw how frail he looked. He was thinner than he'd been before and he hadn't quite regained the colour in his flesh. He stumbled and the Doctor's arm shot out to steady him with a speed that could only be instinct.

Jo was certain she imagined it, but she could have sworn she saw the Master smile. Not the smirk of a scheming villain, either. Just a shy, happy smile.

The Brigadier looked completely unsympathetic; eyeing the Master the way one would eye a stick of sweating dynamite.

"I trust the Doctor told you I'm not happy with this?"

The Master stepped past the Doctor and nodded. "He has."

"Good." The Brigadier steepled his hands over the thick stack of papers on his desk. "Now, with those present as witness, I want to hear you swear that I can trust you."

"You have my word, Brigadier."

"If I find so much as one of my men under hypnosis, I will pack you back to prison and I won't give a damn what the Doctor says."

"Understood."

The Brigadier stared at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion, for a long moment before relenting. He plucked up a section of papers and handed them across along with a black pen. "In that case, here's the paperwork. You'll need to fill out all of it. Oh, and you'll need a pseudonym for your UNIT ID. Koschei sounds too Russian and it certainly won't make you any friends."

The Master looked suitably confused and the Doctor gave him his best 'I'll explain later' face. In the lull, Yates finally found his voice.

"Sir, if I may; what on earth is going on?"

A small sliver of amusement wormed into the Brigadier's expression. "The Master is now a probationary member of UNIT, Captain."

"And why, exactly, is that?" Benton asked, casting a cautious glance at the man in question. Jo wasn't surprised when the Doctor cleared his throat.

"Because he and I have settled our differences, Sergeant, and I'd very much like to keep him around."

Neither the Captain nor the Sergeant looked convinced, but they didn't say anything more. They just glanced back at the Brigadier, who made a show of shuffling through the files next to him.

"Well, if that's that, I'll kindly ask you all to return to your duties. I have a lot of work to do and I'd prefer not to be disturbed."

Benton and Yates filed obediently from the office; the Master not far behind. Jo waited for the Doctor to close the office door behind them before skipping up beside him.

"Doctor?" She checked to see that the others were out of earshot.

"What is it, Jo?"

"Well, when we visited the Master, you told me that you 'could almost say' you two were at school together. And I've been wondering..." She paused. "Well, you see, you either went to school together, or you didn't. I've been trying to figure out what you meant by the 'almost', and I think I've got it."

"Do tell." The Doctor narrowed his eyes.

"I think you meant that you two were together at school." Jo bit her lip and glanced conspiratorially up and down the hall. "I mean, like, _together_."

The Doctor gulped, looking almost disappointed in himself. "I suppose you're going to tell me it was obvious."

Jo grinned. "A little." Then it dawned on her. "So that means that you've got back together!"

"I wouldn't jump the gun, Jo." His eyes darted downwards, nervous. "We've settled our differences but I don't want to push my luck. A long time ago I hurt him very badly and I don't want to rush anything."

"But you love him?"

"Well, yes. Obviously."

If at all possible, Jo's grin got wider. "I knew it!" She pulled the Doctor into a quick hug before scampering off down the hall like a caffeinated mouse in ridiculous shoes. She was going to enjoy that thirty quid that Benton owed her. Behind her, the Doctor's voice turned scandalized.

"Were you betting?!"

* * *

1 0 – 0 – 1 1 – 0 – 0 – 0 2

The Master had been given a room directly across the hall from the Doctor's. It was a fairly spacious one; surprisingly so considering how spartan the rest of UNIT HQ was. He'd expected barracks or a creaky camp bed in a glorified supply closet. Instead, he'd found a comfortable four-poster which looked like it predated UNIT's ownership of the building, a writing desk, a curtained window with a view of the grounds, a sizable wardrobe and a bookshelf with a copy of _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_. Clearly the Doctor's. He tutted at the flagrant disregard for the Laws of Time and tucked the book away where prying UNIT eyes wouldn't find it.

"Well, I have some good news and some bad news," the Doctor announced by way of greeting. He stepped into the room and dropped some folded clothing on the end of the bed.

"I'm listening."

"Your TARDIS left." The disappointment in the Doctor's voice was palpable. His expression was sour. "She left you all your personal belongings—bit of a mess, mind—but she left! Up and dematerialized right in front of me! The cheek!"

The Master smirked. "She never liked me anyway. I suppose she saw her chance to be rid of me."

"There's a difference between 'never really liked you' and 'threw all your clothes, books, and scientific equipment helter-skelter 'round a warehouse'. She broke some very lovely things, you know." The Doctor scowled, or perhaps more accurately, pouted. "Poor Benton's been retrieving your knickers from the overhead piping. It looked like a bomb had gone off! The crazy old thing threw a fusion pressure-forge at my head!"

"She has a temper." Koschei reached over, pulling his nightclothes from the small folded pile. "I'll be sure to apologize on her behalf." He caught the look on the Doctor's face and sighed. "You wanted spare parts, didn't you?"

He looked ashamed, but nodded. "I was in reaching distance of a working TARDIS. I could _taste_ freedom. And all she did was throw things at me and leave."

"Sounds like her."

"What did you do to make her so stroppy?"

Koschei shrugged. "Rassilon knows. She must have been enjoying her retirement when I stole her. _Or_ she resented being stuck in a black hole after you destabilized the Darkheart." He slipped off his black gloves and jacket and kicked off his shoes. "Aside from a five-dimensional temper tantrum, how was the rest of the day?"

The Doctor crossed his arms. "Well Jo made thirty pounds off Benton. Apparently they had a wager going as to the exact nature of our relationship."

Koschei snorted. "She bet thirty pounds that you and I were former lovers?"

"Benton was suitably gobsmacked. He thought he had a sure-fire win. He told me that 'I don't seem the type'."

"The type to what? Have ex-lovers?"

"No. These humans have a silly hang-up about two males or females falling in love." At Koschei's withering expression, the Doctor waved a dismissive hand. "They'll get over it. Give them, ooh, thirty or forty years; they'll start working things out."

"Sounds promising," Koschei replied, not bothering to conceal his sarcasm.

"Look, twenty years ago they'd have locked us up for it. Count your blessings."

"And a hundred years ago I suppose they would have hanged us for it?" The Doctor's non-committal shrug was answer enough. Koschei grimaced. "Such a lovely planet."

"They're young."

The inference was clear and Koschei decided to change the subject. "I've finished the Brigadier's paperwork. I've even settled on a name, which Corporal Bell assures me is perfectly ordinary."

The Doctor raised a curious brow. "Let's hear it."

"Harold Saxon." He shrugged off his white silk shirt and replaced it with a simple cotton shift. "I was going to use John Smith, but the Corporal informed me that you, in your infinite creativity, are already using it."

The Doctor's expression turned reproachful. "Criticizing me for using a name which was also your first choice?"

Koschei let out a soft laugh, tossing his belt into the wardrobe. "Touché."

The Doctor lifted the stack of paper, flipping over it. "What a dreadfully dull way to spend an afternoon."

"Ah, it wasn't too horrible." He wobbled, unsteady as he swapped suit trousers for cotton; his bandaged leg obviously unable to support his weight.

"You all right there, old chap?"

"Yes, I'm fine." Koschei hobbled to the bedside and glanced at the clock. 22:00. "It doesn't hurt anymore, but I don't feel much of anything at all. I don't think the nerves have grown back yet." He eased himself down onto the mattress. "I still can't move my foot."

"You did lose half the muscles in your calf. You can't really expect them to come back overnight." The Doctor crossed the room, tossing the covers over Koschei as he settled. He turned self-conscious the moment the other man smiled. Smiling in return, he ruffled Koschei's hair before turning to leave, shutting off the lights on his way. "You should get some sleep."

"You can stay, you know."

The Doctor froze in the doorway, utterly silent, nervous fingers working at the moulding. Koschei couldn't see his face in the dim light but he could read the uncertainty in his body language. He let his words hang between them; giving the Doctor a moment to think.

"I didn't want to rush things," the Doctor replied, his voice soft and low and without its usual bruskness.

"We shared a bed for eighty-five years, Doctor."

"And it's been centuries since. I thought..." In the dark, Koschei saw the Doctor's hand rub at his neck. "I thought you might want to take things slow."

"Thete."

The old nickname caught his attention and the Doctor turned, leaning almost wearily on the doorframe.

"Come to bed," Koschei urged, with a gentle pat to the vacant side of the mattress.

The Doctor's smile was still somewhat bittersweet as he shut the door. The moonlight filtering in the window provided just enough illumination to see by as he slipped out of his smoking jacket and belt; folding the garment before leaving it on the chair. Neither of them said a word. The Doctor simply climbed beneath the sheets.

Koschei smiled. It had been a very long time indeed since he'd shared his bed. Despite many an opportunity, he'd always turned down the acquaintances and companions who'd offered. It hadn't felt right. He'd loved Theta and he hadn't wanted anyone else. He'd very nearly loved Ailla, but that had ended just as painfully.

No matter. The past was the past and he didn't care to dwell on it. Not with Theta's warmth and weight next to him. Dwelling on the past was for those who could not bear their present.

The Doctor's hand came to rest on the Master's waist and Koschei closed his eyes.

"Goodnight, Theta."

"Goodnight, Koschei."


End file.
